


Think of Something to Say

by notjustalittlegirl



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7593310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustalittlegirl/pseuds/notjustalittlegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Jefferson comes home from 6 years in Paris and realizes that his feelings for his friend James Madison are still very present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of Something to Say

**Author's Note:**

> Title from What'd I Miss. Because of course. 
> 
> Originally written as a birthday gift for my friend Logan, who requested Jeffmads canon era after I introduced him to the ship. Happy birthday, young grasshopper! Beta'd by my friend (and metaphorical child) Laura. Thanks sweetie!

    Thomas Jefferson sat down at his smooth oak writing desk and put his quill pen to the paper.  _ Dear Mr. Madison,  _ he began. Reading his greeting back to himself, he bunched the sheet up and threw it across the room, into the wastebasket. For a man he had known for most of his life, and considered to be his best friend, it was far too formal to begin a letter with  _ Dear Mr. Madison _ . 

    But how to begin the letter that would let James know he was coming home? After six long years away, he would be returning to his beloved Virginia. He didn’t want to be too formal, nor too cozy, even though cozy was exactly what he longed to be. He had admitted to himself, one late night in that drowsy place between waking and sleeping, that he wanted more from his relationship with James Madison than simple friendship. 

    Before he had left for Paris, he had given James a kiss. Just a simple, impulsive peck on the cheek, but one that Thomas had never been able to put from his mind. 

    Neither man had mentioned it. Not once, in the hundreds of letters they’d exchanged in the six years they’d been apart. Thomas had almost fooled himself into thinking that maybe his feelings for James had dulled with time and distance, but now, as he was preparing to send his final letter from his Paris bedroom, preparing to board the ship that would take him home to Monticello, he realized that they most certainly had not. 

    The simple thought that, in less than two months, he would be seeing James’ face again made Thomas’ heart beat faster with excitement and nerves.

_     My darling James,  _ he began again. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He crumpled up the second sheet. Too familiar. They had been apart for six years, after all. He couldn’t be sure how James felt towards him, and he wasn’t willing to risk their friendship any more than he already had by kissing the other man. 

Thomas laid his head down on the desk, frustrated. Writing to James had never been this hard before. 

Several more failed greetings later, Thomas settled on a simple  _ Dear James.  _ Neither too formal, nor too cozy. A greeting that he had used hundreds of times before, yet one that had taken him ages to settle upon tonight. 

__ The rest of the letter was no easier to write. All Thomas managed to get down was that he was coming home, he would be there soon, and he was eager to see James. He mailed the letter before he could second guess any double meanings that his carefully thought out sentences could possibly contain. 

 

* * *

 

When, barely a month later, Thomas Jefferson stepped off the boat and back onto the familiar Virginia soil, he was so relieved that he almost fell to his knees. The journey home had been thoroughly unpleasant, what with the minor squalls and the longing to arrive at last, and Thomas’ legs still felt the consistency of jelly at the mere thought of the rolling deck and the endless water. 

He was so exhausted that he almost couldn’t be disappointed that James wasn’t there to greet him. 

His mansion in Monticello was as familiar as ever and just as he had left it. He was about to throw off his shoes and lay back in his armchair for a much-needed nap when he noticed something out of place. 

A letter was sitting on his desk. A letter from President George Washington.

    Barely an hour later, Thomas was back in his carriage and headed up to New York City. 

* * *

 

    As he ended his second journey in a week, Thomas steeled himself. He was going to be the Secretary of State. Him. What was more, James. James would be here, in New York. He hadn’t come to meet Thomas at the dock because he was here. In New York.  

    As he exited his carriage, trying to maintain an air of control and cleverness, Thomas scanned the crowded sidewalks and the entrance to the building. A familiar figure stood out against all the rest. His face was red, and he coughed into a handkerchief as he gazed intently at where Thomas was making his New York debut as the new Secretary of State. James. 

    Thomas’ heart fluttered with nerves and happiness, and he had to physically restrain himself from tackling the other man with a hug. His thoughts had been one hundred and ten percent correct: he still held feelings for James. Seeing him again brought them all flooding back up to the forefront of his mind so they were all he could focus on for the moment. 

    The only thing his frazzled brain could think to say in greeting was, “James. You’re ill again. So, what’d I miss?” 

    James gave him a small smile, nodded, and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the crowd. As Thomas looked up at his face he saw that, along with the red, there was worry there. Lots of it. In the years they had known each other, Thomas was unsure if he’d ever seen James this worried. Many of his letters had held this tone, and Thomas had been upset that there was nothing he could do to help from all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. However, seeing it in person was an entirely different matter, and it woke something protective inside Thomas. 

    “James,” he asked as he tried to focus on James’ worried expression rather than his hand on his arm. “What’s going on?” 

 

* * *

 

Take a walk. A fucking WALK? As Thomas and James exited the cabinet, furious at the audacity of Alexander Hamilton to propose a plan that posed such a threat to their beloved homeland, both men were on the verge of punching someone. Preferably the Treasury Secretary in question.  

James, always the calmer one, placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “It’s okay, Thomas. His plan won’t pass anyway. Especially not now that you’re here to stop him.” 

Thomas calmed slightly at the words and James’ belief in his ability to ruin Hamilton’s plan, but the anger that had been bubbling up in his chest all day was far from faded. He brushed off James’ hand so he could kick the brick wall, pretending that it was Hamilton’s smug, smiling face. 

“Fuck!” He yelled and grabbed onto his foot, hopping up and down in pain.

James waited for him to stop his swearing and lower his injured foot back to the ground, then approached slowly with his hands in the air. “Hey, Thomas. What’s wrong? His plan won’t pass, and I think you know it, so what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” growled Jefferson. James raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, then coughed into his hanky again. 

“Thomas,” he said between coughs and hacks. “That’s bullshit. What’s-”

“He insulted you!” Thomas blurted out, unable to lie once he saw James’ intense expression directed right at him.   

“Oh.” Madison looked genuinely surprised that that had been the forefront worry in Thomas’ mind, or even a worry of his at all. Thomas spoke again in a hurry, so loudly that James worried the rest of the cabinet could hear.  

“He called you mad! You’re not!” 

“Tom, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter!”

“Yes it fucking does! He can ramble on about his insane debt plan all he wants, it won’t pass, but he CANNOT insult you!” 

Thomas put his head in his hands, sinking down to the floor. He knew that he had just lost any chance he might have had with James. Scared him off with all the yelling and hand waving and wall kicking. 

James placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, genuinely moved by his friend’s reaction to Hamilton’s insulting him. “Thomas,” he said softly. “Thank you.” 

“What?” Thomas raised his head, confused. Why was James still here? He hadn’t bolted yet. What was he doing? 

“I said thank you. For being concerned about me. It’s… sweet.” 

Thomas, though shocked that James had  _ thanked  _ him for yelling, figured that if the other man hadn’t been scared off by all of his outbursts, he might as well keep going and bare all. 

“James,” he said. He took a breath. He had never been afraid to speak his mind before. Why did he have to be now? 

“The kiss I gave you. Before I left for Paris. We… we never talked about it.” 

James sat down on the floor next to his friend. “Okay. Do you want to?” 

“Not really. But I think we should. I… I have a confession to make, about something that’s been in my mind for a long time.”

“I’m listening.” 

Thomas took a deep breath before blurting out his next sentence all in a rush: “Myfeelingsforyouaren’tplatonic.” 

James raised an eyebrow, having been unable to understand Thomas’ jumbled words. “Could you repeat that? I have no idea what you said.” 

Thomas tried desperately to calm himself down. This was it. This was the moment. “James,” he said, more slowly. “My feelings for you aren’t platonic. I gave you that kiss because I think I’m in love with you. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. Feel free to run away now.” 

James sat completely still for a moment, trying to process what Thomas had said. He was… in love with him? Looking over at his friend, James saw the look of complete terror in his eyes, afraid of James’ reaction to his confession. Thomas started to his feet, preparing to flee the room. James grabbed his arm, pulling him back down next to him. 

“I… I was hoping so. I was so worried, after that kiss, that it had only been a friendly kiss, so I decided to not bring it up just in case I was wrong and you didn’t feel the same way towards me or thought I was disgusting or-” 

“James.” Thomas cut off his ramble, looking completely thrilled. James thought he looked beautiful with that look of excitement and anticipation on his face. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

“I love you too.” 

Thomas’ face lit up into a smile so bright that the sun paled in comparison. He gave a little clap. “Yay!” 

James laughed happily at Thomas’ reaction. “You’re so cute. May I… may I kiss you?” 

“I am not cute. I am handsome, but not cute. And yes, you may.”

“You are totally cute.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes as James leaned in towards his lips. He was less than an inch away, and Thomas could practically taste him. Their lips brushed lightly.

The door slammed open, and the two men jumped apart quickly, blushing, and worried that they had been caught. Luckily, the man who poked his head out into the hallway didn’t seem to have any idea what had been happening before he arrived. 

“Gentlemen, we are ready to reconvene.” 

Thomas groaned in disappointment, until he looked into James’ enchanting eyes and saw the silent gleam of promise there.  _ Later.  _

His heart light and soaring with happiness, Thomas Jefferson walked back into the cabinet, ready to face Alexander Hamilton and whatever he had in store. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
